


Puttin' On The Ritz

by KerrAvonsen



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Adventure, Challenge: Sentinel Lyric Wheel, Ficathon, Gen, Humor, Wordcount: 100-2.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-10-16
Updated: 2000-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KerrAvonsen/pseuds/KerrAvonsen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair have a clash with fashion. Set at some point after Rememberance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puttin' On The Ritz

**Author's Note:**

> **Written For:** The Odd Wheel (the second Sentinel Lyric Wheel)  
> **Disclaimer:** The characters and concepts of The Sentinel are owned by Pet Fly Productions. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
> 
> Okay, slightly Odd but hopefully fun.

Jim adjusted his bow tie with a sigh. "You know I hate this kind of stuff," he said.

Blair, sporting his own bow tie, white satin waistcoat and black tails, just smiled. "All those rich people and beautiful women, and you're _complaining_?" His normally wild hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

Jim gave his tie another tweak and turned to his partner. "I don't understand how you can put up with that monkey-suit, Blair."

Blair grinned. "I just consider it blending in with the natives," he said.

Jim raised his eyebrows. "I don't really think you could blend in with _these_ natives, Chief."

"What, you don't think I have it in me to be rich and famous, Jim?" Blair looked mock-offended.

Jim boffed Blair on the head. "If you were rich and famous, you still wouldn't wear monkey suits or try to flaunt your riches," Jim said. "You'd spend all your money on books."

Blair opened his mouth and shut it again. "You're probably right," he conceded. "But I shall still look on tonight as the exploration of a foreign culture."

"Culture away, Chief, but we better get going or Dad and Steven will wonder where we've got to."

###

The charity gala fashion parade and ball to which William Ellison had invited them was one of the events of the year - at least amongst those who cared about such things. The rich and snooty of Cascade were out in their throngs, there to be seen and photographed and gossipped over. The rich and conservative were there to be seen to be charitable, and the would-be rich were there to try to make connections in an informal atmosphere. And then there were the ones who were simply there for something to do, with lots of dollars, spending every dime in search of a wonderful time.

Blair was bouncing at his side like an eager child as Jim handed their invitations to the man at the door. Jim spotted William and Steven already sitting at their table. The smells of perfume and wine and food were already threatening to give him a headache. At least the lights weren't too bright. Carolyn had remarked once that the dimmer the light, the more expensive the food, and that rule seemed to be holding here. Of course, there were going to be bright lights later - the spotlights on the fashion parade. The catwalk was already set up in the centre of the room. Jim just hoped that he'd be able to cope with the contrast when the time came.

Mel Wilkenson of Wilkenson Towers was amongst the throng. He nodded at Jim and Jim nodded back. _Guess that's one of the rich and famous who doesn't forget good deeds._ Jim thought, considering how he and Blair had saved Wilkenson's daughter from Galileo.

Then Jim spotted another familiar face, and considered that perhaps the evening might not be wasted after all. That is, if she was still interested. Angie Ferris, the singer, was seated at a table with a few other people. Her head was turned away, but he knew it was her. There was no evidence of her daughter Pam, but Angie probably considered this unsuitable and too-late entertainment for a teenager.

Steven waved to them from his table, and Jim and Blair wove their way through the tables to them. Blair thanked the Ellisons enthusiastically, and then kept up a running commentary on the people around them.

"Check out that lady over there," he said quietly to Jim. "Do you think those diamonds are real?"

Jim glanced at the glittering choker around the neck of the lady in question. "Too bright to be diamonds," he said unthinkingly.

"Too bright?" Blair said.

"Cubic Zirconia. It's brighter than diamond," Jim said.

"Really? I know experienced jewellers can tell fakes by just looking at them, but I didn't know _you_ could - why didn't you tell me, man? We've got to test this!"

Jim groaned inwardly. "No tests, Chief."

"Jiiiiimmm..."

They were thankfully interrupted by the waiters with their meals. Jim settled himself down to enjoy his food, and nearly zoned on the taste his steak. Ah, that was more like it. Small talk and good food made Jim a little more contented with his lot. Blair carried on with his observations, putting both his father and Steven at their ease.

"When's the fashion parade supposed to start?" Steven asked.

William looked at his watch. "They're running late," he said.

Blair poked Jim and jerked his head in the direction of the stage. "Think you can figure out what's delaying them?" he whispered.

Jim took a deep breath and extended his hearing beyond the stage, filtering out the sounds of cutlery and the conversations around him. Voices, raised in argument.

_"If you don't cooperate, he's dead."_

"What is it, Jim?" Blair asked.

"Trouble," Jim said grimly. He stood up. "Stay here," he ordered.

Naturally, Blair ignored him.

Jim knew there was definitely trouble when he found the door to backstage unguarded and unlocked. He slipped through quietly, Blair moments behind him. He held up his hand for quiet, and pinpointed the voices he'd heard earlier. He made his way through the maze of doors and props to the correct room.

The scene that met their eyes was full of tension. A man with a gun, pointing at a man casually but sharply dressed. Another man dead or unconcious on the floor. Others, men and women in suits and glittering dresses, huddled against the walls.

Jim wished he'd brought his gun, as the man whirled and pointed the gun at him and Blair.

"No funny moves and nobody gets hurt!" the man said.

They put their hands up.

Blair stepped forward and a little to the left. "Hey, man, no need to..."

"Shut up!"

Jim edged a little to the right. Divide and conquer, that was it. "Give it up," Jim said. "Make it easier on yourself."

"Why don't we all calm down..." Blair said.

A little more of that kind of byplay and the gunman was distracted enough that Jim judged it well to launch himself at him, and knock the gun out of his hand. Then it was a matter of fisticuffs. When the man got in a stunning blow, Blair launched himself at the man's back and knocked him over. Then Jim got up and wrenched his hands behind his back, tied him up and read him his rights.

"You are the police?" It was the man in casual clothes.

"_He_ is," Blair said. "I just tag along."

It turned out that the man in casual clothes was the designer Delaruse, in charge of the fashion parade. The man on the floor was one of his models, who'd gotten in the way, and had a broken arm for his troubles. What the man with the gun had wanted wasn't clear, and he wasn't talking.

Blair's hair had gotten mussed up in the fight, so he pulled out of the ponytail preparatory to putting it back up again.

"Stop!" Delaruse called out. "Don't move!"

Blair froze.

The designer stared at Blair as if he'd never seen him before. "Au natural!" he exclaimed. "You are the wild child, Pan of the flutes - that hair, that bone structure!" He glanced at his injured model. "And a fit for Pierre - you are a sending of God!"

Blair stared at him blankly.

"I can see you in a day coat," the designer mused, measuring him with his eyes. "Pants with stripes, a cut away coat. Marie!" He gestured at the only other person in the room not dressed up to the nines. "Do you not think he will do?"

"Do? Do for what?" Blair stuttered out.

"To take the place of Pierre," Delaruse said as if it were obvious. "There is a parade, the clothes, they must be seen. Pierre cannot do it, but you are a fit for him, so it must be you."

"Me?" Blair squeaked. "In front of all those people?"

Jim grinned at his discomfort. "Think of it as exploring a foreign culture, Chief."

Then one of the female models smiled at Blair. He blazed a smile back at her. "On the other hand..." he said. "The show must go on!"

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics sent by Carla. Thanks for the fun!
> 
> **Puttin on the Ritz**
> 
> As sung by TACO
> 
> If you're blue  
> and you don't know  
> where to go to  
> why don't you go  
> where fashion sits  
> Puttin on the Ritz.
> 
> Different types  
> who wear a day coat,  
> pants with stripes  
> and cut away coat,  
> perfect fits.  
> Puttin on the Ritz
> 
> Dressed up like a million dollar trooper,  
> trying hard to look like Gary Cooper.  
> Superduper.
> 
> Come let's mix  
> where Rockefeller's  
> walk with sticks  
> or umbrellas  
> in their mits  
> Puttin on the Ritz
> 
> Have you seen the well-to-do,  
> up and down Park Avenue.  
> On that famous thoroughfare,  
> with their noses in the air.  
> High hats and Arab collars,  
> white spats and lots of dollars.  
> Spending every dime,  
> for a wonderful time.
> 
> If you're blue  
> and you don't know  
> where to go to  
> why don't you go  
> where fashion sits  
> Puttin on the Ritz.
> 
> Different types  
> who wear a day coat,  
> pants with stripes  
> and cut away coat,  
> perfect fits.  
> Puttin on the Ritz
> 
> Dressed up like a million dollar trooper,  
> trying hard to look like Gary Cooper.  
> Superduper.
> 
> Come let's mix  
> where Rockefeller's  
> walk with sticks  
> or umbrellas  
> in their mits  
> Puttin on the Ritz
> 
> Dressed up like a million dollar trooper,  
> trying hard to look like Gary Cooper.  
> Superduper.
> 
> If you're blue  
> and you don't know  
> where to go to  
> why don't you go  
> where fashion sits  
> Puttin on the Ritz.  
> Puttin on the Ritz.  
> Puttin on the Ritz.  
> Puttin on the Ritz.


End file.
